Mend
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: "I've been a huge jerk this week, haven't I?" A tipsy tag to Lost At Sea.


**note: **Hey everyone! This idea came into my head after seeing a gifset of the end scene of Lost At Sea and wondering if anyone ever tagged the team's drinks with Borin. Either way it was a chance to write the team tipsy, so I started writing it anyway. A nod to Sophie for correcting my 3am-grammar.

**disclaimer: **No.

**listening to: **Daniel in the Den, by Bastille.

* * *

_For my Raege. I won't get too sappy, but I love you dear. Happy birthday._

* * *

They pick a booth at the back of the surprisingly crowded bar. After Borin's knowing smirk as Tony's arm jammed its way in between the elevator doors, himself and McGee had offered awkward, apologetic smiles and asked where the ladies were going for their drinks.

20 minutes later, Tony now finds himself squashed onto a leather couch, tracing the rings left on the table by drink after drink. The memory of when he used to make plenty a mark himself flashes through his mind and he needs a quick glance to his right to remind himself that yes, Ziva's alive.

"So what am I getting?" Borin says, her eyes alight, as she pulls a wallet out. Once they murmur their requests and she leaves, an awkward air settles over the three of them remaining.

"So..." McGee starts, but stops abruptly when Tony meets his eyes. "Y'know, I'm gonna go see if Borin needs any help."

As soon as he leaves, Tony turns to face Ziva directly.  
"I've been a huge jerk this week, haven't I?"

She turns her gaze on him and frowns.  
"Not a _huge_ jerk, no. But maybe a little one."

"I get why you did what you did, as... incredibly clever as it was. We said in that elevator—"

She looks away as he cuts off his sentence.  
"What we said then doesn't need to hold up, Tony. I do not want you to decide your every action because of a discussion we had while we were trapped in an elevator, very lucky to not have been seriously injured, and didn't know when we were getting out."

"What if I want to? Not my _every action_, but some."

When she meets his eyes this time, there's a hint of surprise there.  
"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that what we said was a good idea. We agreed to hang out more, and McGeek and I ignoring you and going off by ourselves doesn't cover that." He reaches out to grasp her hand. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you." She sends him a crooked smile and lifts a hand to rest on his cheek. The touch sends him reeling but he manages to not melt and lean in to kiss her there and then. When her eyes flit away and then back again, he knows their little moment is over, and he sits back, letting Ziva drop her arm to the table once more.

McGee and Borin return, carrying two drinks each, and he sends them a grateful smile, realizing they probably hung around the bar a little longer than necessary. While Tony grabs his scotch off McGee, who's also carrying a craft beer for himself, Ziva collects her club soda off Borin and takes a contented-looking gulp.

Their friend takes her seat and drinks some of her own beer, stretching backwards with a sigh.  
"Glad that one's over."

As Tony asks Borin a question, which may well be the first one off the top of his head, his hand finds its way to Ziva's knee, and for some unknown reason, she does absolutely nothing to move it again.

* * *

The table is littered with empty glasses. He's the one scotch and two beers down, but Ziva switched to Mojitos a while ago and he's pretty sure the majority of the empties are hers.  
He's long since realized the downside to being partners with an ex-Mossad officer. Never mind his being beat up by one in the past; Ziva's drinking abilities put his skills to shame—she can hold her liquor like nobody he's ever known.

The world's just started to blur at the edges when he turns his head, and he knows if he has another drink it'll be full-on spinning. Despite his best efforts he's sure he's laughing just a little too much and talking just a bit more than usual.  
Ziva's fine. She's laughing a lot, mainly at McGee, who's been tipsy for an hour and counting. His alcohol limit is plain shameful when compared to Ziva's, and no more so than now.

Perhaps the only indication that anything's a little different with his partner at all, is that now, it's her hand upon his leg. Her thumb brushes up and down at times, smoothing out the material just above his knee. Her touch is surprisingly warm, but not an entire distraction, yet. _His_ hand has decided to play with the ends of her hair, his arm being slung over the back of the booth. His fingers brush her neck at points, too, and then she turns to look at him, a comfortable smile on her lips.

Tonight he's had to try harder than usual not to kiss those lips. Instead, he's resorted to looking at them whenever he can. When she talks, when she smiles, when she curls them round that tiny little red straw. He's captivated, and he knows it's not just because of the booze.

"Uh, I think I'm gonna head home now, guys," McGee says, slightly slurred. "Sorry for earlier, Ziva, you know we love you." He pats her free hand—still upon the table—rather enthusiastically, and stumbles up, attempting to shimmy past Borin with little success. She promptly stands and lets him out.

"I guess I'll leave, too. Tonight was fun, though; we should do this more often."

Tony grins.  
"Yeah, we should. Not just when you pop up on a case, which is actually kinda frequently now. Huh."

Ziva's hand pats his leg, and when it lands again, it's farther up his thigh than before. Slightly breathless all of a sudden, he lets Ziva finish the goodbyes and merely waves to McGee and Borin, the former still stumbling along.

"You want another, or should we go home too?"

Though to him, his sentence sounded almost like _home_ was the same place for both of them, Ziva doesn't seem to notice. She smiles.  
"Can you handle another one?"

"Eh, I'm not dizzy yet."

The way he loses his balance when he stands, however, may beg to differ with him. After making it to the bar safely, he orders a small beer for himself and another Mojito for Ziva. That he returns without spilling any is quite an accomplishment, he thinks.

Getting back into the booth is a bit of a squeeze, and he ends up sitting a little closer to Ziva than he'd intended. She doesn't seem to mind, though, just places her hand back on his thigh and leans in to whisper something about McGee. He gulps at her close proximity, swallows some of his beer, and turns to look at her.

She's silent now, taking a small sip of her drink. Her eyes are locked on his unmovingly, and he knows all too well how easy it is to get lost in her gaze. He's seriously considering the benefits and downsides of kissing her, for the twentieth time this evening, when she turns away and sets her glass down.

"What did you mean when you said I'd had my chance?"  
The words escape before he's even thought about them, and for some reason he reaches down to place his hand over hers, keeping it on his thigh in rather an un-subtle way. It makes her look up, though.

"Nothing, Tony. Just that you could've asked me as soon as I mentioned it, and not hours after."

He raises an eyebrow.  
"Well, I was being a jerk. I really should've done it there and then, y'know."

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she says nothing.

* * *

"We should catch a cab," he says, with a small smile.

"Separate cabs. We live in opposite directions from here."

His smile fades right away even though he already knew that exact fact and has repeatedly wished it wasn't true.

"Yeah. That's what I meant."

Leaning into the road, she waves down a taxi just coming to a halt at a set of lights. Its headlamps flash and she steps back, waiting for it to move again.  
"Well, thank you for eventually catching on. Tonight was fun."

He grins.  
"Yeah, it was."

"And, Tony, about earlier, you really do not have to keep considering me over that talk in the elevator. I—"

Her lips are warm and soft and that's the only thought that registers fully in his mind. Having finally snapped after a night of temptation and almosts, he's now not quite sure he's going to be able to let go.  
Some form of sound escapes her lips before she moves them against his and his hands move to grip her waist almost frantically. The kiss is messy and fast and not at all delicate but it's addictive all the same. Their tongues meet and tangle wildly whilst their limbs move, grasping all they can find. Her hands are in his hair, then at his shoulders, and then pressed flat against his cheeks to angle his mouth down more, much like his dart from her face to her hips and then up to her lower back.

A car horn breaks them apart, and a glance over Ziva's shoulder lets him know it's the cab, arrived at last.

"You should go."

"I know."  
She leans up to kiss him again, quickly but still deeply, and she pulls away with something like regret in her eyes before running over to the cab.

He calls out goodnight as she shuts the door, and he sees her pull the window down before the cab drives off. She waves to him, only a little move, but it's not that he notices. There's a tiny, knowing smile upon her lips that tells him though they may not acknowledge this when they next meet, and they may both pretend it was down to the alcohol, neither of them will forget that kiss in a hurry.  
And as he walks down the street to catch his own cab—the world very much spinning now—he thinks that, really, that's just how he'd like it.


End file.
